


10(0)% Trash

by asdfgjkl



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 2 prompts in 1 yea, College AU, Fluff, Happy birthday Oikawa!!, IwaOi Week, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-09 08:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4341131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asdfgjkl/pseuds/asdfgjkl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iwaizumi is a programming major with a lot of interesting ideas - one of which is turning in a game called "How Trash-y Are You?" for an assignment. Of course it is inspired by his loyal boyfriend, Oikawa Tooru, who takes collateral damage from Iwaizumi's magnificent contribution to society.</p>
            </blockquote>





	10(0)% Trash

**Author's Note:**

> pfff this is one week late i'm so sorry.  
> i actually had this ready before monday but i?? didn't??  
> sigh. someday i might actually fill the rest of the prompts.  
> anyway, enjoy these dorks + fluff <3

Oikawa bit his lip and stared at the ridiculously bright flash game on his screen. Its title, “How Trash-y are you?” was colored in shades of neon green and blue that hurt his eyes, especially in this stupid dorm room with nonexistent lighting. He really needed to change the dying bulb, but he was still hoping that Makki would get to that before him. Or maybe Mattsun, if he was-

 _Okay, okay, stop_. He was going off-tangent when there were serious matters that needed dealing with – a _lot_ of dealing with, if Iwaizumi was seriously planning on submitting this abomination tonight through the school’s _public_ _website_ for a _grade_.

He sighed melodramatically and tried _Oikawa Tooru_ again, typing his name into the blank field beside which there was a pixelated version of Iwaizumi snickering and trying (but failing) to cover his traitorous expression with one hand. He was dressed in a white toga, and if he wasn’t so digital-looking, he would’ve been the perfect replica of a deity fresh from Mount Olympus, what with his tanned skin and manly arms and- _damn it, priorities, Tooru_ , he mentally chided, _priorities_. Anyway, Oikawa supposed the get-up was meant to be a joke on how Iwaizumi was the literal god of this game, though, obviously, the bigger joke here was the keywords “Oikawa Tooru” resulting in “100% trash!!!” for the one hundredth and thirty fifth time – no, he has not been keeping track – and an obnoxiously-looking Iwaizumi pointing out of the screen and laughing at Oikawa.

Laughing. _Laughing._ How _could_ he?

Affronted, Oikawa groaned – not an ordinary groan but one where his voice went from soft to louder and loudest in a crescendo, reserved especially for when his stupid, _mean_ Iwa-chan went out of line; and, oh, did that boy go way out of line this time – and picked up his phone, thumb furiously punching in his four-digit password so he could get to Messages quickly. 

He clicked on a contact which read “♡♥ Iwa-chan ♥♡” because he was actually kind enough to not call his boyfriend _trash_ , and started typing in the iceberg-tip of his complains.

 

> _me [4.08 pm]: IWA-CHAANNNNNNN_  
>  _me [4.08 pm]: WHY???????_  
>  _me [4.08 pm]: YOU BIG MEANIE_  
>  _me [4.08 pm]: (-̩̩̩-̩̩̩-̩̩̩-̩̩̩-̩̩̩___-̩̩̩-̩̩̩-̩̩̩-̩̩̩-̩̩̩)_
> 
> _♡♥ Iwa-chan ♥♡ [4.12 pm]: ???_
> 
> _me [4:12 pm]: how dare you reply with symbols_  
>  _me [4:12 pm]: that’S EVEN WORSE THAN ONE-LINERS_

Then, as if Iwaizumi was deliberately trying to push Oikawa’s button – Oikawa wasn’t entirely sure he _wasn’t_ – he said:

 

> _♡♥ Iwa-chan ♥♡ [4.13 pm]: wat do u want trashkawa_
> 
> _me [4:13 pm]: STOP USING THAT NAME_  
>  _me [4:14 pm]: STOP SAYING THE WORD TRASH_  
>  _me [4:14 pm]: TRASH IS TABOO + A SENSITIVE SUBJECT_
> 
> _♡♥ Iwa-chan ♥♡ [4.17 pm]: why_
> 
> _me [4:18 pm]: BC OF UR STUPID PROGRAM IDIOT_  
>  _me [4:18 pm]: IDIOT ID ITO IDIOT_  
>  _me [4:19 pm]: IDIOT IWA-CHAN_
> 
> _♡♥ Iwa-chan ♥♡ [4.19 pm]: (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑_  
>  _♡♥ Iwa-chan ♥♡ [4.19 pm]: it worked_
> 
> _me [4:19 pm]: ew_  
>  _me [4:19 pm]: where did u get that emoticon from_
> 
> _♡♥ Iwa-chan ♥♡ [4.21 pm]: you_

Oikawa slammed his phone against the table and swore to never, ever pick it back up – not even when it buzzed repeatedly and flashed its green light non-stop and produced a popup he could vaguely make out, from the other corner of his table, to be a mini version of his and Iwaizumi’s chat window. His mouth settled into a deep pout as he extended a hand to turn his phone over, eyes facing the opposite direction so he wouldn’t accidentally see what Iwa-chan replied and give in to temptation. That would look weak, and weak wasn’t how he wanted to appear to someone who was being such an annoying dickhead - boyfriend or not.

Once he had taken care of the proverbial snake, Oikawa started racking his brain for possible way outs. He knew shit about programming, animation, Flash, or whatever Iwaizumi actually learned in the geeky, red-bricked building conveniently located in the heart of campus – Oikawa didn’t think the IT guys deserved that; it did nothing but boost their egos and encourage them to play pranks like these – because one of the perks of dating Iwaizumi was how Oikawa could always count on him to take care of his blogs’ templates and themes. Since Oikawa didn’t see them breaking up anytime soon – or ever – he had never bothered with learning how to code and stuff

“I’m a content guy,” he’d say when Iwaizumi complained. It was a sentiment he’d take back in half a heartbeat if it meant boundless IT knowledge.

Oikawa laid his chin on the desk and gently tore at his pretty curls. “Think, Tooru,” he commanded. “Think, think, think, think, think.” He leaned backwards in his wheeled chair and balanced a pencil between his nose and lips. “Think, think, think, think, think.” He stood up and started pacing, crossing his arms over his chest as he ignored the light _thump, thump_ of the pencil as it fell to the floor. “Think, think, think, thi-,” and that’s when he noticed a picture tacked onto his desk-sized bulletin. “That’s it!” he exclaimed at the photo of Kenma, Kuroo, Iwaizumi and himself taken at a party last semester. “That’s it.” His eyes were sparkling as he realized that, though he may not know how to take care of this by himself, he knew people who do.

"Networking is important, kids!" Oikawa exclaimed for the sake of his imaginary audience as he dashed out of the room.

*

“No,” was Kenma’s response to Oikawa barging into his room.

“But I haven’t even-”

“No,” Kenma repeated, without even looking up from his PSP.

“You need to help-”

“No.”

“Iwa-”

“ _Especially_ if it’s about Iwaizumi.”

Oikawa felt like crying. How did this dick-boyfriend-head get even _Kenma_ to be on his team?

“I’m not siding with him,” Kenma stated nonchalantly from where he was laying on the couch, as if he didn’t just read Oikawa’s mind and mildly freaked him out. “I just don’t want anything to do with your fights.”

“We’re not fighting, we’re just-”

“You never come here when things are going well with Iwaizumi.”

Oikawa gasped. “Such accusations! I can’t be that bad of a friend!”

“You are.”

“I- Wait,” Oikawa said, dragging the word out as he narrowed his eyes at Kenma, “does this mean you know _why_ we’re fighting?”

“Does _what_ mean I know?”

“So you do know!” Oikawa exclaimed, his face the dictionary definition of betrayed. His hands were curled into fists at his sides – a pitiful attempt at anger, if Kenma might say. “I bet you even helped him design it!”

“No,” Kenma said, finally placing down his game console so he could sit up and have a normal conversation involving eye contact between both parties. “He’s turning it in for a grade, so no.”

“Are you saying that if it wasn’t for a grade, you’d help him call me trash?”

To that, there was no response.

“Why am I even friends with you people?” Oikawa cried in anguish before darting out of Kenma’s room with an irritated huff. Of course, he made sure to slam the door behind him for a nice, theatrical touch.

Seeing as there was nothing else he could do but await his doom - said doom being the public humiliation he would undoubtedly receive when Iwaizumi released the stupid game - Oikawa stalked back to his dorm and spent around fifteen minutes in silence. He wasted the time eyeing his blinking phone warily and staring at his unread textbooks before he decided, against his better judgment, to boot his laptop back on and launch that ridiculous game again. It even had a shortcut on his desktop now, god knows why.

Oikawa rubbed his hands together and stuck his tongue out. He was ready to beat this game.

 _Iwaizumi Hajime_ , he typed.

“0% trash!”

Of course. He had anticipated that.

 _Iwa-chan_.

“0% trash!” it said, and Oikawa was about to start typing another variant of the nickname when he noticed the fine print: “But grown men who still use a nickname like this is 100% trash”.

Oikawa fumed.

 _Iwa chan_.

_Iwa chan!_

_Iwa-chan!_

_Iwaaaa-chan._

_Iwa-channnnnn._

_Iwa-chann._

_Iwaa-chan._

“0% trash!”

“Goddamn it,” Oikawa screamed, and almost pushed his laptop off the table in a wild rush to take his frustrations out on something.

That was when the door opened.

Oikawa’s head snapped towards the source of noise as his whole being tensed and stilled, ready to launch itself at the person behind the door if it happened to be-

“IWA-CHAN!”

He jumped out of his chair and attached himself onto Iwaizumi, all four limbs and a head clutching the poor man like he was the prize of an arcade claw crane game. Then, his mouth was open, and for a horrifying second Iwaizumi thought Oikawa was going to take a huge bite of his neck – which _might_ be somewhat hot in a given situation, but not this one – before he realized the logical explanation for the gaping mouth would be Oikawa's understandable desire to yell right in his ear. Iwaizumi hurriedly tugged Oikawa off him and set him down on the floor, sitting cross-legged across the other man himself.

With how Oikawa was currently behaving, Iwaizumi didn’t think it was safe to leave his fate in the hands (and legs and head) of his crazed boyfriend.

“You’re very excited to see me,” Iwaizumi stated, tiny smile coloring the corner of his lips like he didn’t know why Oikawa had reacted the way he did.

“You’re damn right I am!” Oikawa shouted. “Fix it!”

“Fix what?”

Oikawa was pretty sick of everyone feigning innocence about the situation. “You _know_ what!”

Iwaizumi couldn’t help it – he ducked forward and planted a fleeting kiss on Oikawa’s temple. “C’mon, just last night you were squealing about the game, acting way more excited about it than I am.”

“That was before I knew-,” Oikawa sucked in a deep breath, refusing to finish the sentence. “Anyway, you don’t get to kiss me out of this, Iwa-chan! Not even if you look hotter than usual with glasses," he mumbled. "Because I don’t want anything to do with your stupid game anymore!”

Iwaizumi adopted a serious face, giving Oikawa a side glance as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Are you _sure_ you don’t want to be featured-”

“Yes! For the love of volleyball and aliens and,” his nose crinkled, “you, sometimes, yes! I don’t want your other geek friends to start calling me trash.” At that, Oikawa folded his arms against his chest and looked away. Iwaizumi thought it was kind of cute that his pout was still visible even when he wasn’t facing him.

“Alright, fine,” Iwaizumi conceded as he pulled a USB stick from out of his pocket. “Here,” he offered it to Oikawa, “I’ve fixed it for you.”

Oikawa scowled. “You’re lying,” he said, squinting at the obviously untrustworthy USB.

“Am not.”

“Am.”

Iwaizumi threw Oikawa the USB, who only caught it out of instincts and _not_ because he secretly wanted to. “Try it.”

Grumbling something which may or may not be a hex but sure sounded suspiciously like one to Iwaizumi, Oikawa snatched his laptop off the desk and plugged the USB in. He waited for his Asus to scan the thing, figure out there’s a problem with the USB and ask if he’d like to fix it – _Not now_ , he selected. The contents of the USB appeared in a separate window, and Oikawa clicked on the icon titled, “How Trash-Y Are You (2)”.

The file loaded almost immediately (“8GB RAM,” he’d boast to Iwaizumi. “Wasted on blogging,” the latter would reply) and it was either Iwaizumi didn’t fix anything or Oikawa was too blinded by rage to see, but everything looked exactly the same to him.

“You’re not lying about having fixed this,” Oikawa said, “are you?”

“Nope.”

“I trust you.”

“Good.”

“I am putting my trust in you; you understand what that means? The consequences of-”

“Just put it in.”

Oikawa was upset, but not upset enough to stop his eyebrow from arching amusedly.

“Type. It in. Type your name in.”

“Are you positive that’s-”

“Oikawa, I’m trying to make peace.”

“Fine, fine.”

 _OIKAWA TOORU_ , he tried. Caps lock for full-blown anger.

For some reason, it took forever for the progress bar to be fully filled by some weird, vaguely mercurial liquid, but when it happened, the screen faded to black and Oikawa’s head was already half-turned to Iwaizumi, demanding to know if he had just infected his laptop with a virus, when a loud honk rang through the air. It was the kind of sound effect often found in birthday parties, not roads, and it was soon followed by popping noises – party poppers, Oikawa realized.

He shifted to fully face Iwaizumi as the screen lit up in its annoyingly fluorescent colors, but surprisingly less annoying content:

“0% trash!”

It was the typical response, though the fine print below it wasn’t: “Your whining and crappy TV shows are still trash tho. Also your range of hair and face products. It’s ridiculous.

But I love everything else.”

In finer print: “Except for when you ruin my favorite shirts when you cook because you, for some goddamn reason, refuse to wear your own expensive shirts at home… trashkawa.”

Oikawa squeaked a bit at that ending. “I said,” he started, but never got around to finishing the sentence because Iwaizumi had somehow managed to creep behind him and wrap both his muscular arms around Oikawa.

He kissed him again – this time on the back of his head. “Happy birthday, babe.”

Oikawa’s shoulders jolted minutely in response to the kiss. It was sort of ticklish in a nice, cozy-atmosphere-best-people kind of way.

“Iwa-chan, I told you kisses aren’t enough!” he cried petulantly, though they both knew Oikawa had more than forgiven Iwaizumi, even if he was the type of boyfriend who would design elaborate schemes for a simple happy ending.

“Don’t worry,” Iwaizumi said, tone teasing, as he flipped Oikawa around and lifted him onto his lap, “that’s not the only present I’m giving you.”

Oikawa blanched. “Any guy who thinks his _dick_ is a present-”

Iwaizumi muffled the rest of it with another kiss.

*

Needless to say, after the mind-blowing sex Oikawa used his limited computer skills but unlimited access to Iwaizumi’s laptop to replace the game he was going to submit as his project with their private version – or, as he called it rather uncreatively, “How Trash-y Are You (2)”. It was only appropriate, Oikawa thought, considering the damage that’s been inflicted upon his pride.

Which was why, the next day, when everyone in Iwaizumi’s animation class started snickering and staring him down as they walked down the hallway – Oikawa accompanying him to class – Oikawa thought that there was no need for him to know exactly what transpired.


End file.
